Entropy
by nova A
Summary: Ecklie's final act of revenge has serious repercussions for Grissom and Sara. Spoilers for season 5. Contains some GSR. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: This is my first attempt at Chapter fic, as well as anything other than a post-ep. Set in season 5, after Ecklie's little Yoko maneuver. Will eventually be GSR or at least GSUST. Hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: CBS: if you sue me, all you'll get is my crappy Geo Metro. Please don't. I really love that car.

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Their pagers went off almost simultaneously. Sara glanced up from the small screen to see Grissom watching her, a peculiar look on his face; irritation mixed with a healthy dose of caution. She knew immediately that they were being paged by the same person.

Ecklie had always been slippery, but since his promotion he'd become insufferable. Sara knew that he had been infuriated by Grissom's cool dismissal when they were equals. His new position had allowed him to take revenge. Ecklie had proven his authority by transferring half of the night shift, and since then Sara'd had the unsettled feeling that he may not be finished with Grissom, or with the rest of them, for that matter. The fact that she had made it through the first round unscathed had only served to make her more guarded than ever. When she was around Ecklie she got a feeling of impending danger, like there was a shadow looming on the horizon. She had been hoping that his new responsibilities would make him more magnanimous. That he'd learn a little something about leadership, encouragement, the art of managing people. When he paged them, though, she knew. The thing within her that had been waiting and dreading settled quietly into place. This was it. In a moment she would find out what Ecklie, like a pitiless and petty deity, had in store.

Grissom was still looking at her, the question clear on his face. "Ecklie," she replied simply, with a nod. He held her gaze, grim. She wondered if he'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, as well.

They put down the evidence they'd been working on and headed silently down the hall together. She walked closer beside him than she needed to, her shoulder brushing his. To be honest, they'd hardly spoken lately, but in that moment she wanted to be physically near him. It felt comforting somehow.

When they reached Ecklie's office, she saw his eyes flicker casually over their postures. Sara took a step away from Grissom, walking into the room first. Ecklie never did anything without an ulterior motive, and from this moment on every move they made must be deliberate. There was no way in hell she would ever let her guard down in front of this man.

"Hello Gil, Sara," he said in that smooth deceptive voice. "Please close the door and take a seat." By unspoken accord Sara sat while Grissom carefully closed the door behind them. As she heard it click shut Sara experienced a moment of irrational claustrophobia at being trapped in the small room with Ecklie. But then Grissom seated himself in the chair to her right. She glanced reflexively at him, and he met her eyes for a split second. It was all the reassurance she needed. When she turned back to Ecklie she was composed, prepared. She felt that she and Grissom were a united front; she thought that they were ready for anything he could throw their way.

She was wrong.

"I'll get right to the point," Ecklie began. He was seemingly concerned yet careful, thoroughly rehearsed. Sara was reminded, not for the first time, of a snake getting ready to strike. "I called you two here today because certain members of my staff have expressed… concerns… over behaviors in the workplace which they feel to be inappropriate." Grissom inclined his head, raising an eyebrow. "Inappropriate, Conrad?" he inquired noncommittally. "In what way?" Ecklie shifted in his seat, leaning forward to lace his fingers together on his desktop. Poised. "Well, Gil," he sighed regretfully, "I'm going to have to be frank with you. It seems that quite a few of your coworkers feel that your effectiveness at work is being hindered by your relationship… with Sara."

She couldn't help it; Sara's eyes widened as the blood turned cold in her veins. Every muscle in her back and shoulders tensed, but she didn't move, tried desperately not to give anything away through her posture. Sara and Grissom's relationship was such a sensitive subject that they couldn't even broach it between themselves. For Ecklie to make such an accusation was a shocking violation; it wasn't just untrue, but also inexcusably personal. In her peripheral vision Sara could see Grissom carefully removing his glasses. His preferred stall tactic. Ecklie looked slowly, shrewdly back and forth between them, clearly enjoying the awkwardness he had created. For a long strained minute nobody said a word.

It was Grissom who finally broke the ice. "Just exactly who made these complaints, Conrad?" he asked. His voice had turned tight, quiet, dangerous. Sara couldn't stop herself anymore; she looked over at him. His brows were drawn down and his left hand clenched tight around his glasses. His body looked stiff, like a coiled spring. Grissom was not a man who got angry easily. It was clear that he was absolutely furious. Somewhere in the back of Sara's mind, a tiny voice wondered about the speed of his pulse.

"Several members of the staff who wished to remain anonymous," Ecklie replied. "Suffice it to say that a considerable number of people felt concerned about this matter." Grissom's jaw flexed. "Well," he replied. "I hope that you advised said members of your staff to speak with me, so that I might assuage their concerns." Ecklie leaned back in his leather chair, completely at ease. "Actually, Gil," he said, "They didn't feel comfortable speaking to you about the subject. I assured them that I would take care of this problem myself."

Grissom's expression darkened with suspicion. "What do you mean, 'take care' of the problem, Conrad? There's no problem here. Sara and I have an extremely professional working relationship."

Sara looked away from Grissom, down at her hands.  
Ecklie caught her movement. A half smile worked its way across his face.

"Do you," he asked softly.  
"Yes," Grissom stated flatly. "We do."

"Well, Gil, I've heard differently," Ecklie said. "I've heard stories about inappropriate physical contact, which I feel is unacceptable in our work environment." His voice took on a new tone, smoothly businesslike. "As you may or may not know, the process of evaluating each CSI shift has been ongoing since I was promoted. Over the past few months I've been carefully observing each team, to better understand what should be done to improve their performances. Effective immediately, I'll be making one more change to the night shift."

He paused, eyes glittering. Sara felt it coming. Ecklie's reckoning. It was building, snowballing, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She clenched her teeth and waited.

"This will be the final reshuffling of CSI personnel," Ecklie continued. "Sara will be moving to days, and James Preston, a day shift CSI, will be joining the night shift. After Sara's transfer each team will be complete and every CSI will be assigned permanently to their specific shift."

Sara's ears were ringing; her fingers trembled. Slowly, as if in a trance, she looked back over at Grissom. He was sitting bolt upright, watching her with the strangest expression she'd ever seen. For a moment she forgot where they were, the fact that Ecklie was sitting three feet away. For a moment there were only Grissom's eyes locked on hers. A frisson passed between them, a helpless, sorrowful understanding.

So. This was how it would be.

Grissom tore his eyes from hers; they went, determined, to the smirking Ecklie. Sara knew what he would try to do. She also knew it wouldn't work. She was grateful to him, though, for trying.

"Ecklie," Grissom's voice was steady, and the words came quickly, caution and formalities put aside. "Sara is the last member of my original team. I value her insight and her investigative skills. We work well together and I believe that this is the wrong decision. Whatever problems you and I have should be worked out between the two of us. Don't punish Sara because of a grudge you have against me."

Ecklie laughed. "Punish her?" he asked incredulously. "Grissom, only you would be arrogant enough to assume that removing Sara from your supervision would be considered punishment." He shook his head, amused, and continued. "On the contrary, I believe that she will have the opportunity to grow and flourish on day shift. I agree wholeheartedly that Sara is an excellent CSI. I'm convinced that she'll be a valuable asset to-"

Ecklie's speech was drowned out by the sound of Sara's chair scraping back. Head held high and shoulders squared, she stood abruptly. She felt as if she had shaken off a long sleep. Her mind was totally clear, sharp and focused.

"Sara?" Ecklie asked, patronizing. "Would you like to add something to this discussion?"

"Yes, I would," Sara replied, her voice cold. Grissom was sitting forward on the edge of his seat; she felt his body language straining, urging discretion; she ignored him. Ecklie gave her a placating smile, and Sara's eyes narrowed with unrestrained fury. She caught her breath.

"Go to hell, you smarmy son of a bitch," Sara snapped.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone. Thanks for the positive feedback. It always makes my day :-).I forgot to mention in the first summary that there's some naughty language in this story. But I suppose you must know that by now if you've gotten this far. Onward!

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Silence fell like a stone in the small room.

Sara stood poised and still, her chin tilted at a fierce angle. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and her eyes were fixed unwavering on Ecklie.  
_  
Oh_, Grissom thought, grimacing. _Shit_.

The patronizing smile faded slowly from Ecklie's face, to be replaced by something far more real, but also infinitely more dangerous. He leaned slowly, deliberately forward.  
"What did you say, Sara?" Ecklie asked. His voice was a soft, treacherous warning. "Sara," Grissom heard himself say sharply. She didn't even spare him a glance.

"I _said_," she enunciated, every word ringing clear and true, "Go to _hell_. You _smarmy_. Son of a _bitch._"

The scientific, detached part of Grissom's brain noted that Ecklie was slowly turning a very interesting shade of pink. "Your attitude is way over the line, CSI Sidle," he growled. The pleasant pretense had evaporated entirely; they were looking at the true face of Conrad Ecklie.

"What's over the line," Sara shot back, "Is your cavalier attitude when it comes to the CSI staff. This is all one big game for you, isn't it? Moving people around like pieces on a chessboard." She scoffed. "You don't care about the effectiveness of the teams. You're transferring members of the night shift because of some petty personal vendetta of your own. How dare you make insinuations about our..." Sara flushed, paused, then rushed forward. "How dare you say that either of us would allow personal relationships to interfere with the integrity of our duties as CSIs? And where the hell do you get off making an executive decision about my career without even bothering to broach the subject with me first?"

She paused for breath; Ecklie rose quickly to his feet. "It's my decision to make, Miss Sidle," he spat. "Like it or not, I'm now the assistant director of this organization. And if you know what's good for you, you'll follow my next directions precisely. First you will apologize to me, right here and now, for your previous insulting comments. Then you will submit a written, formal letter, to be placed in your file, explaining to me why I should allow you to keep your job. Finally, you will start, as of this morning, your new position on day shift. No more questions asked. Is that understood, CSI Three Sidle?"

They glowered at each other across the desk; for an instant, Grissom actually feared that Sara might sock Ecklie right in the mouth. He stood, holding his hands up as though to instill calm. Neither of them paid any attention, and in reality, Grissom knew that the situation had long ago escalated far beyond his ability to rein it in.

"You've made yourself absolutely clear," Sara said in a voice that could have frozen water.

Then she turned on her heel and brushed past Grissom. He watched dumbstruck as she yanked open the door and walked out without another word. Ecklie turned slowly to face Grissom, prideful anger lingering on his now tomato-hued face. Grissom glared back. He found that he had absolutely nothing to say to this man.

Instead he headed for the door, as well. "Grissom," Ecklie said warningly from behind him. "Don't you walk out of here. We're not finished." Grissom turned only briefly. "Yes, Conrad," he said. "We are."

The only thing he could think to do was go after Sara.

He headed down the hall at a determined clip, glancing into rooms and down hallways for any sign of her. He was angry; hell, he'd been angry from the moment Ecklie had taken it upon himself to discuss Grissom's relationship with Sara. The man was all-around infuriating, and truthfully, Grissom thought that most of Sara's statements had been justified. He'd been sorely tempted to respond in a similar way. Only his newfound sense of wariness in Ecklie's presence had prevented him from losing his temper; he had known immediately that Sara wouldn't be able to hold onto hers. He just hadn't expected her to take it quite so far.

Grissom shoved his glasses back onto his nose, frustration building with every step. He was a meticulous man; he valued order and rationality, careful scientific analysis. This situation had developed with incredible speed. It was too unsettlingly precarious, too far out of his control. He had no idea how to resolve it in a positive way, especially since he wasn't even sure of how he fit into the equation anymore. Technically, the dispute was between Sara and Ecklie; as of a few minutes ago, he was no longer Sara's supervisor. But he knew he couldn't leave it alone, because after all, this involved Sara. Whether he liked to admit it or not, everything was different when it came to her.

He found her in his office, radiating restless fury as she paced back and forth. She looked up when he entered, arms crossed over her chest. Her stubborn, closed stance added fuel to his fire, building on Ecklie's accusation and Grissom's own sense of uncertain helplessness. It wasn't really Sara he was angry with, but she was the only one in range.

"What the hell was that?" he asked sharply, closing the door of his office with a little too much force. Sara looked taken aback. "I think the whole thing was pretty clear," she answered, defensive.

Something within him snapped. "What's not clear to me, Sara, is why you didn't exercise some discretion in there. Although it's very unfortunate, that man," Grissom stabbed a finger in the direction of Ecklie's office, "now controls everything that goes on in this lab. If you want to stay on at CSI, I think you'll have to do as he asks." Grissom's voice sounded much harsher than he'd expected. He grimaced, hating each word. "Otherwise, he'll try to have your badge for this."

Sara's entire demeanor shifted even as he watched. She seemed to shrink a bit; her eyebrows drew together, and for a long quiet moment she looked at him, disbelief and hurt betrayal clear on her face. Then she unclipped her badge and tossed it onto Grissom's desk. "Well," she said shortly. He could have sworn her lips trembled. "When he asks for it, why don't you give it to him?" He stared, not quite comprehending. "You're turning in your badge?" he asked, incredulity pushing aside all other emotion. "You can't be serious!" The moment he said it, Grissom knew it was very definitely the wrong response. Sara's jaw clenched; she favored him with the icy stare she had directed at Ecklie only minutes before.

"I'm done, Grissom," she said. "It's time I started making my own decisions again."

She didn't bother to close the door on her way out.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all for the great feedback. It really inspires me to keep working on the story. I promise that this will become GS. Just bear with me for awhile, 'k?

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Catherine walked through the crime lab in search of Greg Sanders. She'd received a page advising her to find him 'ASAP.' The page, unfortunately, had failed to mention where Greg actually was. Catherine checked the break and evidence rooms; no Greg. She was beginning to get a little irritated when she heard her name being called in a strained whisper.

"Catherine! Sssst! Cath!" Startled, she looked around, turned in a circle, and finally spotted Greg's head poking out the locker room door. "Greg?" she asked, confused. "What're you doing?" He motioned to her. "Just come in here." Catherine shrugged and joined him in the locker room. "I got your page." She eyed him quizzically. "Why are you so twitchy, Greg? What's up?"

"Something's going on, Catherine. The whole lab is talking about it. Something with Grissom, and Ecklie and Sara." Greg replied, looking tense. "Okaaay," Catherine drawled. "Why did you page _me_?"

"Well, you know," Greg said, fidgeting. "Because you're pretty much the only one who can handle Grissom."

"Just why exactly do I need to handle anyone?" Catherine asked, still thoroughly confused. Greg turned and pointed at the row of lockers along the wall to their left. One of them stood wide open, its contents gone. Catherine took a second look. "Is that Sara's locker?" she asked. "Yes, it is," Greg confirmed. "She cleaned it out and went blasting out of here about fifteen minutes ago. And _that_ was about ten minutes after AD Ecklie paged both Sara and Grissom to his office."  
"Greg, did you maybe think to ask her what was wrong?" Catherine questioned. Greg shot her a dubious look. "Are you kidding?" he squeaked. " I don't know about you, but I value my personal safety. I stayed the hell out of her way."

Catherine found Grissom sitting slumped in his office, staring quietly down at something in his lap. "Gil," she said. "What on earth just happened here?"

He didn't look up. Suddenly she thought he seemed deflated, tired.  
"Sara quit," he replied flatly.  
"What?" her voice rose. "You can't be serious!"  
"That's exactly what I said to her," Grissom grimaced. "She didn't take it very well."

Puzzled, Catherine walked around the desk, trying to see what was so important that Grissom couldn't take his eyes from it. She rested a hand on the back of his chair and followed his gaze. Sara's face smiled up from her badge, cradled carefully in the palm of Grissom's hand. Catherine let out a breath. "Wow," she said, completely thrown. "What on earth brought this on?"  
Grissom finally looked up at her. "Ecklie," he said.

Catherine shut the door and pulled up a seat. "Tell me," she said simply. Grissom gazed down at Sara's badge again, absently running his thumb over her photo. "Ecklie paged us both this afternoon. He claimed that some of the staff had complained about an… inappropriate relationship between Sara and I interfering with our work." He winced slightly as he spoke, and Catherine shook her head slowly. That bastard Ecklie. He had figured out that Sara was Grissom's Achilles Heel. He would have known that bringing up their relationship was the ultimate way to make Grissom squirm. She could only imagine how uncomfortable Ecklie's accusation must have been for them, painfully private as they both were.

Grissom continued. "Then he announced that he would be trading Sara to day shift." "Wait a minute," Catherine interrupted, bewildered. "Trade Sara? With whom?"  
"Some day shift CSI, James something," Grissom said, waving a hand dismissively. He looked up and pursed his lips. "Sara told him to go to hell."

Catherine's eyes widened. "Sara… told Ecklie to go to hell."

"And she called him…" Grissom inclined his head matter-of-factly. "What was it? A 'smarmy son of a bitch'." Catherine gaped at him for a moment before finding her voice. "Well," she finally managed. "It _is_ a fitting description."

Grissom let out a humorless chuckle. "So she just quit, right then and there," Catherine prompted. "No, actually," Grissom replied. "Ecklie was furious, of course. Sara walked out, and I followed her." he stopped, looking chagrined.

"Gil," Catherine peered at him suspiciously. "What did you say?" Grissom sighed and removed his glasses. "Honestly, I'm not sure." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was frustrated, and I said something about having to follow Ecklie's instructions if she wanted to keep her job," Grissom gently placed Sara's badge on his desk. "And here we are," he finished with an air of hapless finality.

Catherine regarded Grissom for a long moment.

"Well," she finally said, her voice brusque. "What are you going to do?" He gave her a sharp look. "What do you mean?"  
"You can't just leave it at that, can you?" Catherine replied. "As far as you know, Ecklie isn't aware that Sara quit, and you've got her badge. So go and get her back."Grissom shook his head. "It isn't that simple, Catherine. It's not my place. I'm not her supervisor anymore."

"Oh, come on, Gil," Catherine said. Typical Grissom; thoroughly clueless. She checked herself, trying to remain patient. "It most certainly _is_ your place. She was probably looking to you for support, and instead you got pissed off and fed her some line about cooperating with Ecklie."

Grissom spread his hands wide in protest. "Hey, this isn't about what I said to Sara. Even if she hadn't thrown her badge at me, she would still have to contend with Ecklie." His tone was defensive, frustrated; Catherine could see that he probably did feel terrible about what he'd said to Sara. She decided to leave well enough alone for the moment, and nodded slowly; she understood his point. "Ecklie would still transfer Sara to days. That is, if he didn't fire her. And he'd definitely hold a grudge," she mused.

"That's the one thing he's good at," Grissom replied dryly, looking distracted. She watched as he picked Sara's badge up again, curling his fingers around the thin piece of plastic. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off of it.

Catherine took a breath. Enough was enough. "Okay," she said, slapping her hands on her knees as she stood up. "I think we've established that it's not a good idea for you to interact with Ecklie. Ever. So let me handle that end. Once I get things sorted out with him, you can speak to Sara."

Grissom sat up, looking alarmed. "Catherine, none of this involves you. I doubt if Ecklie will discuss it with you at all. Even if he would, what could you possibly say?"

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve," she replied. "You should know that by now, Gil. Don't worry. It'll work out." She headed purposefully for the door. "Catherine," Grissom called after her, somehow managing to sound both authoritative and nervous at the same time. "This isn't a good idea. I really don't want you to try it."

Catherine half-turned and tossed him her slyest Cheshire Cat grin. "Well, Gil," she said, "Then I guess it's a good thing that you're not _my_ supervisor anymore, either."


	4. Chapter 4

I apologize for the lack of updates. I've been kind of sick, and that always seems to cause creative difficulties for me. Hopefully this will make up for it; I'm posting three chapters tonight and I'll try to get the final part of this story up as soon as I can. I hope you all are still interested…

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Sara stalked furiously out of the crime lab, a duffel bag full of her belongings crammed under one arm. It felt strange to be headed for her car at this time of evening, in cool twilight, just as night was falling. Usually she was working now, the responsibility of a case weighing her down, heavy on her mind. If she was outside it was in the field; wearing her CSI vest, protected by the large FORENSICS on her back, shielded behind a badge. But the badge was gone now, and she was the one who had thrown it away.

She reached her car and unlocked it, climbing quickly inside. It was only then that she allowed herself a moment to clutch the steering wheel and take a few deep breaths. The anger was still strong, of course, closed tightly like a fist in her stomach. But she was also suddenly experiencing another, more surprising feeling: one of vulnerability as the reality of her actions closed in. She was used to having a purpose. Leads that needed to be tracked and evidence to be processed. She had just left her job in the middle of a shift, and now that purpose was gone. Sara didn't have to be anywhere, or do anything. To be so abruptly unburdened made her feel lightheaded and oddly unbalanced. It was unstable, dangerous like the edge of a precipice. It might have been exciting, if the circumstances were different, if she weren't so incredibly pissed off. She slammed the palm of her hand hard into the steering wheel; it stung fiercely, and she let out her breath in a choked huff. Dammit.

She drove home as the sun went down and Vegas slipped into neon-lit night. Inside her apartment she dropped the bag and paced around the floor, biting her lips, rife with energy. She didn't know what to do with herself. She felt jumpy, disconnected, jangled; she couldn't sit still. Finally Sara decided that a run would be best. Ever since the police marathon, she'd found that when she got this way, running seemed to help. After changing into a sports bra and sweats, she put up her hood and jogged off down the street. She followed her usual route; four blocks up, ten over, four down, and ten back. Sara ran hard, letting her feet pound the quiet residential sidewalks, air rushing cold and painful in her throat, making it burn. The pain was good; it cleared her head, made her finally feel sane and grounded again. She arrived back at her apartment gasping for breath, shaky, red-faced and slightly feverish. Her fingers and the tips of her ears were numb; she knew it wasn't good for her to go running in the chilly winter air, but she'd needed it. Calmer, Sara took a long, warm shower and toweled her hair to damp-dry, then changed into flannel pajama pants and a zip-up fleece hoodie. She turned up the heat. Finally she made herself a mug of strong tea and curled up on the couch to think.

Sara's wrath over Ecklie had cooled, but she found that it hadn't left regret in its wake. She wasn't sorry for what she had done in Ecklie's office. She didn't even need to waste time feeling indignant. The man was a lying asshole, and he'd merited everything she'd said to him. She deserved at least to have a little control over her own fate; she wasn't going to be a pawn in some game of shuffle-the-CSIs. She didn't intend to apologize or to go along with any of Ecklie's other demands. She had her pride.

But then there was the situation with Grissom.

The thought of him made her heart clench, and sparks of anger reignited. She didn't care what Ecklie thought of her, but any problem involving Grissom was instantly personal and difficult. In her mind, Sara ran carefully over the scene in Grissom's office. His bitter response had truly surprised her; she'd thought they were on the same page. That instant just after Ecklie's announcement, when Grissom's eyes had met hers… She had felt their connection, seen sadness, grief. In his moment of shock, he'd forgotten to be guarded. Sometimes she thought she only imagined such things with Grissom, reading more into them than there actually was. His blink-and-you'll-miss it moments of open emotion always left her second-guessing herself, thinking that she must have had a hallucination. But this time she was certain. The intensity of that moment was burned into her brain.

She was unsure of how, only a few minutes later in Grissom's office, everything had gone so wrong between them. She had been hoping that they could put their heads together, strategize over how to circumvent Ecklie and prevent the transfer. She'd considered taking the issue up with Human Resources, or even the director of CSI. But Grissom's response had felt almost like a physical slap in the face; he'd sided with Ecklie. Without Grissom on her side, how could she hope to stay on the night shift? Sara's already powerful anger had combined explosively with deep-seated feelings of wounded betrayal. And in a split-second decision, she had taken things further than she'd intended. Grissom's expression of openmouthed surprise when she'd tossed down her badge, his too-shocked-to-speak eyebrow raise as she'd walked out the door, had almost been gratifying enough to justify her actions.

Her throat had felt sore and swollen with hurt as she'd marched into the locker room and blindly thrown her things into the bag. A part of her kept expecting him to appear, say something more. But the more she thought about it, the less likely that seemed. It was nearly impossible for her to picture Grissom chasing her through the halls of CSI, begging her to stay. And sure enough, she'd made it out the door without seeing him again.

So here she was. Badgeless, and jobless, and thinking fruitlessly about Grissom. Again.

Sara sighed with exhaustion and thumped her empty mug on the coffee table. Her feelings for Grissom were so complicated at this point that she couldn't make sense of them. She always ended up frustrated and emotionally tangled when she tried. Maybe this was for the best- maybe it was fate's way of telling her to get out of Vegas. A surge of strength rose up through her; she squared her shoulders and set her jaw. She could handle this. She would take a deep breath and push forward, because that was what she always made herself do. She had never forgotten something her foster mother (one of the good ones) had said. "Sara, sometimes all you can do in life is just get through it."

She had made her choice. Perhaps it had been in haste, but she would live with it. The demand for CSIs was high. She'd find a new job right away, reclaim her sense of purpose. She tried to ignore the little part of her that piped quietly that it wasn't quite so simple. That it wasn't all about the job. The thought of this afternoon's angry conversation being the last she'd ever have with him was what perpetuated the dull, painful ache inside of her chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, so this ended up pretty dialogue heavy. But it's good dialogue, especially if you hate Ecklie. Which I do. Really a lot. And from the feedback, other people do, too.

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Catherine poured herself a cup of tea as she considered the best way to approach Ecklie. Grissom was right; it wasn't really her place. But the situation needed damage control, and soon, before things got even more out of hand. Grissom certainly wasn't the person to do it; the enmity between he and Ecklie was too strong. Sara seemed (at least for the moment) to be out of the picture, which was probably a good thing. Telling Ecklie off wasn't the smartest move she could have made. It must have been satisfying, but dealing with Ecklie required a more sophisticated method. She was going to have to beat him at his own sneaky game. Catherine already had her leverage; she knew something that Grissom didn't.

For more than a year, right up until just before Ecklie's shift reshuffle, he and Sophia Curtis had been… intimate. She was certain that the two of them thought it was a secret, but the fact that they'd been sleeping together had quietly leaked out into the lab. Greg was always waggling his eyebrows and making suggestive double entendres when he talked about them. Hodges, who constantly (and creepily) seemed to have the latest word on everything, spoke in a frank, snarky way about how it disgusted him. Catherine herself had seen them standing close, heads together, Ecklie's hand (complete with wedding ring) on the small of Sophia's back. But Grissom, of course, wouldn't know any of this. He was always far too wrapped up in the science of work to pay any attention to gossip. And besides, even if he had known about Ecklie and Sophia, Catherine doubted he'd have realized that this knowledge could go to work for him. Grissom had never been the type to fully comprehend the powerful subtleties and undercurrents of office politics, much less use them as a means to an end. Catherine smiled with grim determination. She supposed, then, that it was only natural for the task to fall to her.

She sidled up to the open door of Ecklie's office and knocked casually on its frame. Ecklie glanced up from where he was furiously signing paperwork. "Catherine," he said, his voice clipped. "What can I do for you?" She cocked her head and put on her most winning, flirtatious smile. "Hello, Conrad," she said. "I was hoping we could have a talk, just the two of us." This time Ecklie's pen stilled; he looked up at her with more than a passing interest. "All right," he said. Come on in and have a seat." Catherine let the door slip shut and carefully crossed her legs as she sat down. "I heard something about what happened this afternoon with Gil and Sara," she began in a calm voice.

"Grissom already ran and told you, did he?" Ecklie gritted. "Oh, you know how it is," Catherine lied soothingly, shaking her head. "Word gets out in the lab, rumors start to fly… which is why I was hoping to hear from you exactly what went on. After all, you're the most reliable source of information I have." Ecklie looked pleased. _Flattery will get you everywhere, Cath,_ she thought wryly. "Now Catherine," Ecklie said. "It's not my policy to discuss departmental matters with supervisors that aren't directly affected by them."

"I realize that," Catherine sighed. "But anything that affects _any_ CSI staff member, no matter what shift, also affects the operation of the entire lab, wouldn't you agree? Word travels so fast around here, departments necessarily interact with each other. What causes problems for night shift can have a negative impact on my people, as well. I'm just looking out for my guys. You understand that, right?"

Ecklie laced his fingers together, considering her logic; Catherine kept the persuasive smile plastered on her face. "All right," he conceded finally. "It's pretty simple, really. I've decided to transfer Sidle to day shift. I called she and Grissom in this afternoon to inform them of the changes, and it resulted in a rather unpleasant confrontation between Miss Sidle and myself." Catherine raised her eyebrows. "Unpleasant?" She asked. "How so?"

"CSI Sidle took it upon herself to personally insult me," Ecklie said coolly. "To criticize my methods, and to question my motives as an assistant director." "Wow," Catherine said, trying to seem respectful and sympathetic. "It sounds like she was way out of line, Conrad." "Indeed she was," replied Ecklie, looking vindicated. Catherine leaned forward. "I've worked with Sara for years, and I like to think I know her pretty well. She loves this job. I can't understand why she would make such a scene." She stared Ecklie full in the face. "Do you have any idea what might have set her off?"

Ecklie's brow furrowed; he opened his mouth, then shut it again. "Well," he finally said. "She did seem upset by the reasoning behind her transfer. But I felt that it was only fair to explain it to her." "What _was_ the reasoning?" Catherine pressed. "I've received comments from staff members about a personal relationship between Sara and Grissom," Ecklie replied. "I feel it's best that they not work together anymore." "Uh _huh_," Catherine said, leaning back in her chair. "So you believe that such relationships are unacceptable between co-workers in our lab."

Ecklie paused at that, looking at her carefully. "Where are you going with this, Catherine?" She shook her head, all innocence. "I'm just tying to understand exactly what your policy is, Conrad."

"Well, yes," he affirmed cautiously. "I believe that co-workers should refrain from having personal relationships. It could interfere with their abilities to do their jobs."

Catherine's eyes narrowed. _Gotcha, you hypocrite_, she thought.

"Conrad," she said firmly, "if personal relationships are important enough to transfer team members, then I think you should open a department-wide inquiry into the matter. It's only fair that we expect our CSIs to conduct themselves in a certain way. If somebody, _anybody_, has crossed a line, it should be brought to the director's attention, don't you think?" She stopped and waited for his response. Ecklie, she thought, looked a little red around the ears.

He cleared his throat. "I really don't think that's necessary, Catherine. I have the situation under control." Catherine sat forward. "With all due respect, Conrad, I think we should involve the director. I'll be happy to go to him myself, if you don't have time. In fact, I think I'll request that he let me head up the investigation. I'll really delve into things, find out if anyone's been doing anything inappropriate." Ecklie rubbed a hand over his forehead; she carefully noted the nervous, unconscious gesture. "You shouldn't be so concerned," he said. "It's not nearly as serious as you seem to think." Catherine looked puzzled. "I thought you said that people were worried about this." "Only a couple of concerned co-workers," Ecklie amended. She feigned confusion. "Did they file formal complaints? Written statements?" Ecklie was beginning to look suspicious. "No," he answered slowly. "Conrad," Catherine sighed. "Do you have any _proof_ that a personal relationship is hindering _anyone's_ ability to do their job?"

Ecklie didn't reply; he regarded her coldly, obviously trying to figure out how the situation had gone sour. "You know Conrad," Catherine said demurely, "it's not really my place to give you advice. But I was thinking; if you just reassured whoever was concerned, you could probably avoid this unpleasantness altogether." She gave a tiny shrug. "Of course, I'm only an impartial observer, but in my experience, sometimes if you give people room to breathe, everything works out just fine. Maybe if you reconsider, you'll find that you don't need to take this quite so far." Catherine paused, tilting her head respectfully. "You're the boss; you're allowed to change your mind. You _could_ leave Sara where she is and continue to observe the situation. And if you notice something objectionable, I can always talk to the director about opening that department-wide inquiry." She paused, deliberating, then decided to push her luck. "Maybe I could even get a CSI from another shift to help out. Sophia Curtis, for example?"

She capped the speech with a meaningfully pointed, challenging stare; Ecklie looked back in tight-lipped frustration. They sat in a silent face-off, eyes locked solidly; Catherine listened to the tick of the wall clock, and counted at least twenty seconds. Finally Ecklie broke her gaze, took a deliberate breath. "I think I understand," he said through clenched teeth, his voice low and furiously strained. Catherine let her shoulders relax; she gave him a genuine, full-blown smile.

"Conrad," she said gratefully. "I'm so glad that you do."


	6. Chapter 6

Damn. Grissom is a really hard character to write. Seriously. This took forever.

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Letting Catherine walk off in search of Ecklie was a cop out, and Grissom damned well knew it.

He knew the right thing to do; stop her and firmly insist that her intervention was unnecessary and unwelcome. That he was capable of handling the situation himself. But for some entirely inexplicable reason, one that defied all logic, he just let her go. The previous hour's events had left him feeling worn down, raw with frustration. Catherine, it seemed, had arrived at precisely the right moment to guarantee his inaction. She always did have impeccable timing.

It was rare for Grissom to feel stumped; throughout his life he'd maintained a naturally unflappable cool. But then Sara had come along. Suddenly, shockingly, she was deep under his skin. He was usually an eloquent man; he recited apropos poetry at crime scenes and quoted famous philosophers to suspects in the interrogation room. But when Sara's eyes flashed in that certain way, all he could do was furrow his brow, mouth agape and mind a blank slate. Afterward he knew he should have said something, anything. But she always seemed to walk away before he could get a word, right or not, in edgewise. When she'd thrown down her badge, he'd had one of those moments. Sitting deflated, holding her badge, he'd hoped she just needed some time to cool off. It had been half an hour, but a part of him still expected Sara to appear. She couldn't possibly be serious about quitting. This job was everything to her.

With a sigh Grissom mentally shifted gears, stood, and pocketed Sara's badge. He walked belated but determined after Catherine. She wasn't in her new office; with a sense of foreboding, he continued toward Ecklie's. Grissom stopped short when he saw the closed door. A glance through partly open mini blinds confirmed his fears; he could barely make out Catherine, seated across from Ecklie. They appeared to be deep in conversation. Grissom ground his teeth and stood for a long, torn moment, deliberating. He couldn't believe he'd allowed this. But he still didn't have any desire to speak to Ecklie, and an interruption might convince the man that Grissom had sent Catherine to do his dirty work. Grissom finally decided just to leave them. He honestly didn't think that Ecklie would talk to Catherine about Sara. Even if she did somehow get him to open up, Grissom seriously doubted that anything she said could make a difference. As he well knew, talking to Ecklie was like trying to get through to a brick wall. An obnoxious, megalomaniacal brick wall.

Instead, Grissom headed back to the evidence room and picked up where he and Sara had left off, labeling fibers from the scene of a double murder. This was the constant in his life. Evidence, needing to be processed, needing him. This felt normal, entirely within his expertise and ability to deal with. He settled into a smooth, familiar scientific groove; the calm order of rational processes always put his mind straight. Grissom got to work carefully separating and bagging individual fibers. Working on his own, it took twice as long. When he was finally done, Grissom stared blankly down at the fibers, each in their own small bag. They were neatly labeled, half in Sara's handwriting, half in his.

Oddly enough, it was the simple sight of Sara's writing on the evidence bags that brought it all home for him. He knew with sudden, clearheaded certainty that she wasn't coming back.

Grissom let out a slow breath and glanced around the quiet, empty evidence room. The space that Sara had filled suddenly seemed immense; a strange void was left in its place. For the first time, Grissom seriously considered the possibility of never working a case with Sara again; her absence in the lab, at every crime scene. The thought was more disturbing than he wanted to admit. Working with Sara was invigorating. When she was around, things seemed sharper, more in focus. Thoughts flowed between them like water; she was always right there on the same page, ready with a suggestion or a different point of view. With Sara on the scene, things often just made more sense. And of course there was the other side of the coin, which Grissom generally avoided thinking about. He wasn't given to frivolities, but something about Sara always made him pause and take notice. Other people simply collected evidence; when Sara worked, she make it seem like art. It was unsettling to think that he might never again see the graceful shape of her body when she was deep in concentration; the calm fluid way she worked, that triumphant half-smile when she was onto something. Sara's smile, directed at him like he was the only thing she could see.

Grissom grimaced. He knew what he had to do; he should have done it the moment that Sara walked out of his office. He would file a formal report with HR about Ecklie's actions. If they wouldn't listen, he would go to the director. Of course, Ecklie had a lot of connections in the lab; it always astounded Grissom how many people blindly put their faith in him. He knew that his complaint would probably, at best, come across as petulant and childish. At worst it could possibly open an entire inquiry into Ecklie's reasoning, which would drag his relationship with Sara into the eye of office gossip. But it was the right thing to do. Once he had filed the report, he would find Sara and figure out what to say to her. He couldn't do much about the transfer, but he might be able to convince her to come back to CSI. Seeing Sara in passing during overlap in shifts, Grissom decided, was better than not seeing her at all.

He was walking toward the door of the evidence room when Ecklie materialized, an expression of intense displeasure on his face.Grissom stopped short, resisting the urge to simply give Ecklie a wide berth and continue on his way. "Grissom," Ecklie said grimly by way of greeting. He was blocking the doorway. Grissom didn't reply. Anger spiked heated through him, and he set his jaw deprecatingly. What now?

Ecklie paused for a long difficult moment. Finally, reluctantly, he spoke, looking as though he was choking on every word. "I'm here to tell you that I've had a change of heart. It's clear that Sara strongly objects to being transferred, so I've decided to allow her to stay on the night shift. Both of you should consider our earlier discussion a friendly warning to watch your behavior while in the lab. I'd appreciate it if you would let Sara know."

For the second time that day, Grissom stared in pure speechless shock at Ecklie. Had Catherine done this? If so, what on earth had she said? Grissom couldn't even guess; his concentration wouldn't stay on Catherine. One thought filled his mind; Sara wasn't being transferred. Sara would be staying on his shift. If he could talk her into staying.

"Of course, there is the matter of the comments that Sara made toward me…" Ecklie reclaimed his peevish look. "As her supervisor, I'm sure you'll see that she does the right thing."

Grissom's surprised relief evaporated. All the anger he'd been nursing, all the confused upset over Sara culminated into a flow of perfectly crystal clear disdain. "Ecklie," Grissom said, "I've had enough of this game. It ends now." He charged ahead without giving Ecklie a chance to reply. "You know I need Sara on my shift, and we both know it's the right choice to leave her there. I don't know what brought about your 'change of heart,' and frankly, I don't care. I'm only going to say this to you once."

Grissom made his voice forceful and sharp. "Leave my people alone and stay out of the affairs of my shift. We do our jobs and we do them well. Night shift has the highest conviction rate in the department. We all worked very well before you were Assistant Director, and we will continue to do so." He paused to see what effect his words were having; Ecklie remained stonily silent. Grissom continued in a low, dangerous tone. "If you ever instigate anything like this again, Conrad, I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to see that you are brought before the director. Believe it or not, you're not the only one with pull in this lab. I know you won't apologize for what you said, but you shouldn't expect anything from Sara, either. She's the best CSI on my shift and she has more integrity than you could ever know."

Grissom walked past Ecklie toward the door, but then stopped for a moment, considering, and turned to deliver a final coup de grace. "Let me tell you something about the 'right thing,' as you put it," he remarked. "If you don't treat your people with dignity and respect for their privacy, you'll alienate them all to the point that they won't want to work in this lab. And that'll be a damned shame, because we need the good personnel we have around here. I intend to file a report with the HR department concerning what happened here today. They should know that if you continue on this path, you're going to lose us some of the best CSIs in the business. This isn't the way you manage people, Conrad, and the sooner you learn that, the better off we'll all be."

Grissom left the perpetually silent and pissed-looking Ecklie behind him. He had more important things to attend to.


	7. Chapter 7

**I swear to holy God in Heaven**, I had this mostly done before the episode Snakes aired. When it came the other night, my jaw hit the floor as Sara practically recited some of the dialogue I had already written down for this chapter (she said, "Why do you think I moved to Vegas?" and I had written, "Don't you have any idea why I decided to stay in Las Vegas?"). So while that was pretty damned freakin' cool, I had to slightly change what I wrote, of course. It was awesome to see that I'm kind of on the same page with the actual writers of the show! I decided I'd better post this before the CSI writers steal any more of my ideas. So, on to the…

**Reverse disclaimer! : **CBS, if you ever swipe any more of my story ideas, then in order to convince me to refrain from suing, you will have to make me a real writer on CSI. Just a fair warning.

**This is the final Chapter** of Entropy. It ended up longer than the others. It contains some promised GSR. I hope you all enjoy it.

**Rating change alert:** This got only slightly naughtier than I expected. To be safe I'm changing the rating, kids. Please note that it's now PG-13.

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Sara approached her door cautiously on quiet stocking feet. It was late, and she told herself that she wasn't expecting anyone. If her job had taught her one thing, it was to always check before she opened the door. A little jolt went over her when she saw who it was. Her immediate impulse was not to respond at all. Sara leaned silently against the door, her eye glued to the peephole to see what he would do next. The convex apparition that was Grissom rang the bell, peered knowingly at the peephole, and then knocked three more times. Sara leaned back, feeling irritable and torn. He looked extremely uncomfortable, but he didn't look like he was leaving. She deliberated with herself through another round of knocking, and then, cursing internally, reached for the deadbolt.

Despite his persistence, Grissom actually looked surprised when she opened the door. "What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was tired and chilly, and her stiff body blocked his view of her apartment. "I was hoping we could talk," he replied, breath steaming in the night air. "About what?" Sara retorted. Now Grissom was the one to look annoyed. "Sara, it's cold. Would you please just let me in?" he asked. She let out a frustrated sigh. Mentally kicking herself, Sara stepped aside and let Grissom into her apartment.

He looked around as she closed the door behind him. Sara's apartment wasn't what he'd expected. It was cozier, for one thing. Overstuffed chairs, rugs on the hardwood floor; a couple of magazines scattered on the coffee table. She had the heater going. Grissom was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was surrounded by Sara; her things, her scent. He unbuttoned his jacket, feeling abruptly quite warm. Sara walked around to face him; his eyes went reflexively over her body. He took in her oversized flannel pajama pants and form-fitting fleece sweatshirt, the casual way her hair curled behind her ears, and swallowed hard. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. He suddenly thought he might know why he'd always avoided coming here.

Searching for a way to break the ice, Grissom glanced around and spotted a laptop open and glowing on the countertop. "Doing some email?" he asked lamely, trying in vain to make small talk, to soften the hard contours of her face. Sara crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm searching the Internet for job postings," she replied shortly. "Grissom, what do you want?" He sighed. So much for pleasantries. Maybe it was best if he just jumped right in and got it over with.

He looked her straight in the eye. "I owe you an apology, Sara," he said.

She was so startled that she actually took a small step backward. An apology from Grissom? This was certainly a first. "For what?" she found herself asking, though she knew the answer. "For this afternoon," he replied immediately. "I was angry at Ecklie, and at the entire situation. I took it out on you. I shouldn't have been judgmental, and I'm sorry." Amazed, Sara studied him, trying to decide how to respond. It was clear that he'd had to muster some courage in order to deliver his apology. But he'd been honest and forthright, and he looked like he meant it. In spite of herself, Sara felt something within her soften. Damn Grissom. No matter how righteous her anger was, the smallest gesture on his part could knock out her defenses before she knew what was happening. "Grissom," she said, and paused. A hundred different and conflicting phrases ran through her mind; she finally settled on old-fashioned, truthful simplicity. "Thank you." she finished with a difficult sigh. "It… doesn't erase what you said, but… it helps."

He nodded. He'd been studying her posture during his carefully worded apology; she'd uncrossed her arms, and her shoulders had relaxed a bit. Her thank you had sounded sincere. Grissom decided that it was safe to discuss the second, more difficult reason that he was here. "Sara," he said. "I want you to come back to work." She gave an ironic huff. "Don't you think it's little late for that? I've done a pretty good job of burning my bridges with Ecklie. And to be honest with you, Grissom," Sara straightened pridefully. "I'd do it again." Grissom sighed. "Sara, I understand that what Ecklie said…" he stopped, trying to think of the least embarrassing way to rephrase the accusation. "What he said about you and I was unacceptable, for so many obvious reasons. But the way you responded…" he shook his head, trying not to come across as accusatory.

She knew what he was asking. "It was about respect," Sara said. "Standing up for myself. The right to make my own decisions and have control over my own life." She watched as he took off his glasses; the familiar gesture made her heart constrict, and she continued without considering the consequences. "And it was about you."

Not at all sure how to respond to that, Grissom cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You still don't get it, do you?" she continued softly, almost to herself. She watched him; his expression remained uncertain. "Grissom," Sara said, struggling for the right words. "Do you remember when I said… when I asked you if you knew why I stayed in Vegas? I thought you understood that it was because of you. I moved here because I wanted to work with _you_." She let the truth tumble out. No point in stopping now. "If I'm not on your shift, Grissom," Sara looked away, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. "Then this job isn't worth it to me."

He stared at her with eyes widened by flattered surprise. Sara's gaze was fixed pointedly on the floor, as though she found something there utterly fascinating. A flush crept delicately up her neck, staining her face. And suddenly he was plunged into yet another one of those dreaded moments; awkward silence thick between them like a physical presence. He felt heavy and useless and ridiculous. Sara looked like she just wanted out of this conversation, out of the room entirely. But this time, he realized, she couldn't walk away. There was no place for her to go. He cleared his throat again and found his voice.

"Ecklie changed his mind," Grissom said. "If you come back, you won't be moving to days." Sara's head snapped up; her mouth dropped open. If anything, her blush intensified. "He changed his mind?" she asked, disbelieving but very grateful for the subject change. "How? Why? What happened?" Grissom raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure," he replied honestly. "I do know that Catherine was in his office tonight. But apparently Ecklie decided all on his own that it was best for you to stay on night shift." "What about his demands?" Sara stuttered. "The required apology?" Grissom gave her a nod. "I spoke to Ecklie about that, and I got an email from him right before I left the lab. I copied it to you, if you're interested. He says that you won't be expected to submit a letter of apology. He understands how the stress of working in CSI might cause the occasional emotional outburst." Sara shook her head, dumbfounded. "Do you think that Catherine had something to do with this?" she asked. "I think it's possible," Grissom admitted, concerned that she would take it as interference on Catherine's part. Sara paused for a moment, as though considering; then to his surprise, a wry grin spread slowly across her face. "I would have loved," she said, "to have been a fly on that wall."

"So would I," Grissom replied, relieved, and hesitated. "Sara, I know that what I said… it must have seemed like I was supporting Ecklie's decision, but that wasn't my intention. We need you at CSI. _I _need you on my shift." She watched him, listening carefully. "I filed a formal report with HR about what went on in Ecklie's office today." Grissom continued. "I felt they should know about his mistreatment of you. If they don't follow up, I'm going to go to the director. Ecklie was using you to get to me, and you deserve much better than that."

Helplessly, Sara felt the remainder of her resentful anger trickling away. Grissom had gone to bat for her. Maybe it had been a little later than she'd have liked, but he had done the right thing. He seemed to be gauging her reaction; after a moment he reached into his jacket pocket, taking a small step toward her. Grissom withdrew her badge, holding it carefully, not pressing her to take it. "Sara," he said gently. "Ecklie doesn't know that I have this. Please come back." Sara didn't know what to say. Even if every other fiber of her being wanted that badge, her stubborn streak always refused to let go of a decision once it was made. She hesitated, torn.

And then, to Grissom's own astonishment, for once in his life he knew the right thing to say to her.

"Sara, I would hate for this… for you to come to regret this decision," Grissom's intimate tone forced her eyes up to the sharpness of his blue eyes, and suddenly the very air between them felt charged. "Grissom," she found herself asking. "What would you know about regret?" Sara's heart thumped at the daring of her words and she braced herself; this was always when the moment broke, disintegrated. But amazingly this time Grissom held fast. He shifted, but he didn't look away. "More than you would think," he replied, voice barely audible. "I know how it can eat at you, wear you down. I know about reliving a moment in your head, wishing you'd done something different. Wondering how things might have turned out if you had."

He had drifted somehow closer to her as he spoke, until Sara's every nerve ending was tingling at his proximity. She tried to clear her mind, focus on the decision at hand. If she was indeed going to go back to her job, she knew it had to be for the right reasons, not because Catherine had cared enough to intervene. Or because Grissom had gone to the trouble to file that report, come to her apartment, apologize and ask her to stay. Or because he was standing so close, and had cryptically but somehow clearly admitted that he regretted decisions he had made about their relationship. And then suddenly she realized, like a flash of lightening. These _were_ the right reasons. They were exactly the reasons that she needed.

She reached out and let her hand close softly on his. For a moment their fingers tangled. His hand flexed with surprise, and she soothed hers over it, gently disengaging his fingers from her badge. Once it was back in her own hand, a strange strong relief swept through Sara, making her feel shaky and grateful. "Grissom," she said, and her voice sounded raw in her own ears. "I'm sorry, too." "For what?" he asked softly. She focused on the subtle rise and fall of his chest and shook her head mutely, feeling her throat tighten; she couldn't explain.

Instead she somehow found a different kind of courage. Sara stepped forward, crossed that last small, intimidating distance. She put her hands against Grissom's chest and leaned carefully against him. Rested her head on his shoulder, her face near the warmth of his neck; closed her eyes because she couldn't bear to keep them open. Couldn't bear to see it if he pushed her away. For a split second he stiffened and her heart dropped. And then, wonder of wonders, she felt his arms close gently around her. They stood silently, and for the first time, Grissom held Sara in his arms. His hand smoothed hesitantly down her back and she slowly let herself relax against him, curling her fingers on the material of his shirt. She opened her eyes. Felt her heart knocking painfully against her ribcage, studied the weathered texture of Grissom's skin, his collar; became aware of the tickle of his beard against her cheek.

"It's okay," Grissom said finally, and the words rumbled low, reverberating into her. His breath was hot on her neck. He was sure that his pulse was through the roof. Sara was warm; beneath the softness of her sweatshirt he could feel the firm contours of her shoulders, the slope of her back. He could feel every breath she took. His face was against her hair, and she smelled incredible. She was so _real._ He knew he should let her go and take a large step back; they'd been standing together longer than any friendly embrace had a right to last. But his arms were mutinous and wouldn't obey. He felt Sara's hand move again, gently, against his shirt. A great, frightening tenderness welled vibrant in his chest. And before he had time to think about what he was doing, Grissom bent his head very slightly and brushed his lips across the pale skin of Sara's neck, just below her ear.

Sara's eyes went wide. Her neck tingled as though he'd burned her. She forced herself to be perfectly still. Agonized, holding her breath, she waited. One of Grissom's hands pressed the small of her back; the other came up to her neck, thumb stroking the sensitive place where his lips had been. He pulled slowly away, his mouth grazing over her jaw, then across her cheekbone. His beard rasped with soft, electrifying friction against her skin. A quiver of desire spiked through Sara's body; she lifted her head just in time for their eyes to meet. Another shock passed between them, this time thick and sharp with longing. Sara couldn't stand it. She closed her eyes.

Grissom's lips found hers.

He kissed her softly once, then again, his mouth warm and tender, achingly slow. Helplessly trembling, she responded, kissing back, feeling as though she'd been drugged. Her hands slipped from his chest up around his neck, beneath the collar of his jacket. Grissom dragged his lips sideways and she groaned at the loss, but he took his time, placing soft kisses on her cheek, her temple and forehead. _Oh God._ Sara melted against him, knees literally going weak. His arm tightened around her back. One of his legs slipped gently between hers. Sara slid a hand up the back of Grissom's neck, sought his wandering lips. They met in the middle and this time she kissed him hungrily, fierce frightening thrills of desire sweeping through her.

And then suddenly he stopped.

Broke the kiss and drew back, leaned his forehead against hers. Their noses brushed sensually. "Sara," Grissom rasped. Their breaths mingled in sharp, heated gasps. She tried to lean back into him. He evaded her. She wanted to scream. "Sara," he repeated, trying to get her to listen as he fought for control with every ounce of willpower. "Wait." Her fingernails dug into his neck. "Why?" she whispered desperately, blood roaring through her veins, finding it impossible in that moment to think of any reason why they should. He brought both shaking hands up, stroked her hair slowly. "This…" he cleared his throat. "This has been a very long, trying day, and I'm just not sure either of us is thinking clearly."

Vaguely, as if from a distance, Sara heard what he was saying. What she very clearly felt was that he still wasn't pushing her away. And suddenly she realized that this was up to her. She could ignore what he'd just said and he would give up his tenuous fight and take her to bed. She could have him, here, tonight. Now. Her body ached for him; Grissom's hands, his mouth, his solid weight. Somehow, though, through her fuzzy haze of desire,she managed to consider his words. Sara forced herself to take deep, calming breaths as Grissom's hands stilled on her hair. She'd been on an emotional roller coaster all day. It seemed a long time ago (actually only a few hours) that she'd considered the fact that she and Grissom hardly spoke anymore. To go so quickly from polite small talk to sleeping together was a huge leap, one that could be devastating. No matter how much she wanted him. No matter how much they wanted each other. Something so impulsive could possibly have an effect on how they worked together, and she'd be damned if she'd make an honest man of Conrad Ecklie. Heart aching, body still trembling with adrenaline, Sara slowly realized what she had to do.

"Grissom," she murmured, and somehow it was easier to be honest with his body against hers, while she was breathing his breath. "I…know this isn't the best time…but if we stop, please promise me one thing," She let her eyes flutter open, found that his were closed. Sara tipped her chin forward. "Promise me," she whispered, her lips brushing feather-light against his, "that there _will be_ a right time." Grissom's eyes opened and he pulled back just enough for his gaze to hold hers, steady and certain. "There will," he said.

And the way he said it spoke volumes for them both.

Sara nodded slowly, swallowing, bracing herself. Reluctantly she slipped her hands off of Grissom's neck, sliding them down his chest, letting them linger there as she softly levered herself back. She felt weak and dizzy from the loss of contact. Sara took more deep breaths, trying to shake off the way her body had reacted to Grissom's. Doing her best to avoid the threatening waves of disappointment. And then Grissom's hands closed over hers, holding them gently against his chest. He was watching her with an expression she'd never seen; open and caring, still tinged with desire, and full of tender understanding. In that instant Sara knew that she'd made the more difficult, but ultimately smarter decision. Finally she knew for certain that he wanted her, too. That fact alone could sustain her until their moment finally came. And now she could finally let herself believe that it would.

Trying her best to regain a sense of normalcy, Sara decided to speak before the moment had a chance to turn difficult. "Grissom," she said, carefully keeping her voice neutral, "would you like to stay for dinner? I was about to make something. We could eat, and we could just… talk. About anything. About work, if you want." Grissom looked at her; despite her shaky hopeful expression, Sara retained an air of quiet, dignified strength. He could still taste her, still feel the curves of her body. Her hands were soft beneath his. He thought about his dreary townhouse, waiting empty and cold. Thought about his promise to her.

"Thank you. I'd like to stay," Grissom said quietly, and hesitated a moment before continuing. "But I think we've talked about work enough for one day." A smile lit her face; that singular smile, the one that seemed made just for him. "Here," she said, blushing again, eager to busy herself. "Um, let me take your coat." She disengaged her hands and circled behind him to rather unnecessarily help him shrug out of his jacket. Sara went over to the rack by the door and hung it carefully beside her own. She turned the deadbolts on the door and flipped her badge onto a small table with a practiced flick of her wrist, gestures so personal and domestic that his heart twisted tenderly in his chest. "What do you feel like for dinner?" Sara asked. And he didin't know how, but it suddenly felt normal, incredibly good to be this way with her. It felt right.

"Whatever you're having, Sara," Grissom said, "Would be fine with me."


End file.
